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Elation exploded through my veins, and hope bloomed in my belly as I scooted over and nuzzled my way under Ken’s heavy right arm. He let me rest my cheek on his fabric softener–scented chest as we both gazed at the TV, pretending to watch.
He’s letting me spend the night!
He’s letting me touch him!
He has on so many clothes!
Since Ken was in no rush to do anything about his clothing problem, I took a deep breath, said a silent prayer, and grasped the knot on his loosened tie. With my heart thumping in my chest, I slid the binding toward me until the knot unraveled in my hand. Glancing up at Ken’s face, I expected to find him stoically staring at the television, either ignoring or oblivious to my advances, but he wasn’t. His guarded blue gaze was pinned on me.
There was something about the warmth of his stare, the curled corner of his mouth, the sharp angle of his eyebrow that spurred me on. It wasn’t the look of a man who didn’t want me.
It was the look of a man who didn’t want me to stop.
Emboldened by his silent dare, I ran my hand up Ken’s chest and began to free the smooth white button at the hollow of his neck. His Adam’s apple bobbed against my fingertips as I opened his collar. His lungs expanded beneath my hand as I moved to the second and third buttons down. His taut stomach muscles flexed against my fist as I popped the fourth and fifth open. And when I yanked the bottom of his shirt and undershirt free from the waistband of his slacks, the bulge beneath his belt buckle betrayed his cool exterior.
Ken shrugged off his button-up and peeled his classic white undershirt off over his head, revealing a full set of flexed abs and pectoral muscles dusted with short, well-groomed chest hair. After tossing the top half of his outfit onto the floor, Ken sat back against his pillows, shirtless and sentient.
I couldn’t figure him out, but the smug expression on his face and fully hard cock protruding from his slacks suggested that he liked it that way.
Does he just want me to do all the work? Is he that lazy?
He doesn’t seem lazy. Look at those fucking abs.
Maybe he just wants me to service him and be on my way?
What an asshole. I should slap him.
Do not slap him.
He might like it. He lets me drag him around by his tie all the time.
Do not slap him.
What do I do now? I’m not just gonna strip him naked. I still have all my clothes on!
So…maybe take your clothes off, too?
Ugh!
Instead of slapping or stripping him further, I leaned forward and assaulted him with a punishing kiss. Just like the night before, Ken was passively letting me have my way with him, and just like the night before, my desperation took over. I chomped down on his lip and felt that motherfucker smile against my mouth. I fisted his hair and heard a low chuckle rumble in his throat. And when I straddled his waist and ground against the swollen ridge in his slacks, Ken rested his hands lightly on my denim-covered thighs.
“Why won’t you touch me?” I finally growled, my face flushed with both desire and mortification.
Ken replied immediately, the husky timbre of his voice in stark contrast with his disinterested behavior, “I don’t want to pressure you…”
“Ken”—I pulled back just far enough for him to see the condescending look on my face—“I didn’t show up here with an overnight bag because I just want to sleep.”
“I know.” Ken narrowed his eyes. “You probably wanna have a pillow fight first.”
A laugh tore out of me as I gripped his face with my right hand, smooshing his smart-ass mouth into a little heart, which I then attacked with a gnashing, exasperated kiss. Ken responded by palming my ass with both hands and guiding me to resume my previous dry-humping pace.
He was infuriating me on purpose. That was the only explanation. The angrier and more aggressive I got, the bigger he smiled, and the more he participated.
I told you this motherfucker wants to be slapped.
Shut up! We’re not doing that!
Every action I made was met by Ken with an equal and opposite reaction. As I clawed at his belt buckle and tore open his zipper, he deftly unfastened my jeans. While I ripped my own T-shirt off like a professional wrestler, Ken reached behind me and skillfully unhooked my bra. When I palmed his girth through the rough cotton of his boxer briefs, he massaged my tiny breasts and pierced nipples tenderly.
